Indebted
by breather
Summary: Fearing for his future and status as a wizard in the wake of blowing up Aunt Marge, a panicking Harry decides to strike out on his own. There must be somewhere in world he could safely hide without anyone knowing his name, right? Too bad the rest of the world never got the memo. No pairings, but some implied slashiness.
1. Out of the frying pan

**CHAPTER 1 - Out of the Frying Pan...  
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Welcome to my new story! The idea for this struck me rather suddenly and while I should really be working on my other stories, this one just wouldn't let me go until I wrote some of it down. Let's see where this goes, shall we?

**Warnings: **None for this chapter, except like, one curse word.

**Disclaimer**: If you recognize any names, terms, or ideas, that's because they're not mine.

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><p><em>"Harry had never been in a worse situation. He was alone, stranded in the Muggle world, and had just seriously broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry. So seriously, in fact, that he was surprised Ministry of Magic representatives were not yet swooping down upon him to snap his wand and arrest him.<em>

_He thought of Ron and Hermione, who he was sure would want to help him, criminal or not, but they were both out of the country, and with Hedwig gone for Aunt Marge's stay, there was no way to contact them._

_He was even without any money with which to get by. He had some wizarding currency in the bottom of his trunk while the rest of his parents' fortune was in the London Gringott's chapter. But with no Muggle money, he had no way to get there._

_But, he thought, looking down at his wand, he was already a criminal. Surely a little more magic wouldn't make his situation worse? He could simply charm his trunk feather-light, slip on his father's old Invisibility Cloak, and fly to London on his broom. From there, he could withdraw his money, have it converted to Muggle, and begin his life as an outcast."_

_-Paraphrased from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, chapter 3_

Harry glumly recalled the process that had led him to the featherbed on which he lay, desperately gripping the sheets to keep himself from being flung into the glass windows as the Knight Bus exploded forwards with a _BANG_. Between blowing up Aunt Marge, threatening Uncle Vernon, encountering that intimidating figure in the alley, and unintentionally summoning magical transportation, Harry's last half-hour had been very busy, indeed.

He hoped they arrived in London soon – it was rather difficult to plan his future as an outcast when every sharp turn the Knight Bus made shook all thought from his head. At least, he considered, he was well away from that strange, hulking _thing_ he had seen in the alley on Magnolia Crescent.

Another _BANG_, and Harry collided with the brass headboard of the bed. The newspaper he had been attempting to look occupied with flew up into his face, and the terrifying visage of the mass murderer Sirius Black – who was in fact a wizard, fancy that? – crinkled up against his glasses. Perhaps he might chance upon Sirius Black while he was on the run. Maybe if he hid his scar – so as not to instigate a further murderous rampage – the man would be willing to give him some tips on being an outlaw.

Hours passed and one by one the other passengers gleefully exited the bus until only Harry was left. He had spent the time alternately fretting terribly, and feeling a grim sort of vindictiveness. Despite that he had effectively ruined his own future, he could not bring himself to truly regret using magic on Aunt Marge – he wouldn't stand such insults to his parents, the people who had loved him dearly and who had died for his sake.

"Next up, Diagon Alley!" Stan Shunpike called from the front of the bus. Harry hurriedly stuffed his few scattered belongings into his trunk and rose up from the bed. With another _BANG_, the Knight Bus was suddenly speeding through Charing Cross Road and coming to a stop before the Leaky Cauldron.

"Right, then, Neville, hope you–" Stan's word stuttered to a halt and Harry was instantly on guard. Seeing that the driver and conductor were both fixated on the door to the bus, Harry hurriedly pulled on his Invisibility Cloak and dove under the bed, his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he scrambled to hide himself.

He could not yet tell what had snapped Stan to attention so immediately, but Harry was quite sure he did not want to wait around in the open to find out. He watched, breath caught in his throat, as a pair of expensive dragonhide boots and the hem of a pinstriped cloak appeared on the bus.

"Minister," Stan breathed. "Wha– What can we do for you today, sir?"

"Morning, morning," Cornelius Fudge, the British Minister for Magic, said impatiently. "I'm looking for Harry Potter. He boarded this bus at approximately 9:00 yesterday evening, yes?"

Harry felt nauseous. The _Minister for Magic himself_ was looking for him, and so soon! There must have been terrible repercussions to inflating Marge the way he did – surely, for the Minister to be hunting him down, dozens, even hundreds of Muggles must have seen what he'd done, had seen her great ballooned form tumbling through the sky! Harry could practically smell the damp moldiness of the dark cell in Azkaban they had surely reserved for him.

"Nope, no 'Arry Potter, Mr. Minister, sir. Got a Neville Longbottom what asked get let off 'ere, but 'e must've scarpered already. Look 'ere, though, 'e must've been in such a hurry 'e's gone an' left 'is trunk!"

_Shit!_ Harry cursed in his mind. In his hurry to avoid being seen, he had forgotten to hide his trunk along with him! Harry tried, and failed, to swallow the dry, heavy knot of dread that had lodged itself in his throat. He shuffled backwards, pressing himself further against the wall of the bus.

"No no, that's just not possible. Ministry records show that Harry Potter's wand boarded the Knight Bus last night. He _must_ be here. Perhaps he boarded without your knowledge," the Minister was saying as footsteps drew nearer. Two pairs of boots stopped just before Harry's trunk and he saw hands appear to inspect it. Stan gripped it by the handles and heaved it with a wheezing grunt onto the bed under which Harry was hidden. The mattress above him sagged with the sudden weight of it, and a flexible brass support dipped down and knocked against his head.

Harry couldn't quite swallow his squeak of surprise. There was a pause above him, and Cornelius Fudge's round, flushed face appeared before him, eyes squinted and peering into the darkness below the bed. Harry flinched back, heart in his throat and hand over his mouth to keep in any more startled noises as those probing eyes roved right past him.

"…Just the mattress then," Fudge murmured to himself.

"'Ere now, Mr. Minister, sir, I wouldn't hope to tell you how to do your job, sir, so I'd ask you not to say I'm no good–" Stan was saying above them. Fudge heaved himself back upright.

"Not my intention, I assure you, young man. But nevertheless, panicked, desperate young boys can be very resourceful, indeed. Aha!" he cried suddenly, triumphantly. "You see here? Harry Potter's name across the trunk! A passenger, certainly! I'll have to check the bus thoroughly, you understand."

"Aye, sir, of course! Blimey, you 'ere that, Ern? Neville Longbottom is 'Arry Potter!"

"Right then," Fudge coughed importantly. "_Homenum revelio!_" he called sharply. Harry gasped and bit down on his lip, clenching his eyes shut and waiting, terrified, to be exposed and arrested. And he waited a bit longer. It seemed the Minister, as well as Stan and Ernie, were waiting for something to happen, but Harry remained where he was, still hidden. Harry wasn't sure what that spell was supposed to do, but he guessed it hadn't worked properly, if the Minister's annoyed huff was anything to go by.

"_Accio_ Harry Potter!" he cried. Nothing. "_Accio_ Harry Potter's wand! _Accio_, _accio_, _accio_!" Fudge growled with frustration, but whatever this spell was supposed to do, by some saving grace, it was also not revealing Harry to him, and Harry was not about to give himself away.

"Well. Well. I suppose he must have already left. Missed him by a moment, perhaps. I'll have to confiscate the trunk, you understand." And with that, the Minister for Magic turned and stalked off the bus, Harry's trunk floating behind him, too frustrated to even apologize for holding up the bus.

"Well now, that's one to tell the missus, 'ey, Ernie? The Minister for Magic, righ' 'ere, lookin' for _'Arry Potter_. Wonder what 'e's done?"

"Aye," said Ernie. And with a great _BANG_, the bus was off again. With great difficulty, Harry kept his grip on the leg of the bed to keep from tumbling backwards across the floor.

Finally away from the Leaky Cauldron, Harry lay tense and shaking huddled beneath the bed, his heart in palpitations over the close call. _That was almost the end for me_, he thought blankly. _I was almost caught, was almost arrested and thrown in prison._

He couldn't risk going for his money now, not with _the Minister himself_ and Merlin knew how many other Ministry officials looking for him in Diagon Alley. But how had they known where to look in the first place…?

_My wand_, Harry remembered, horrified. _Fudge said they traced my wand._ His only means of protection, the only thing that would let him survive as an outcast, was also his downfall. He stared down at his beloved wand, conflicted betrayal welling inside him. He couldn't forsake survival and leave it somewhere, but he couldn't let it give him away.

So long as he was in this country and had his wand, he would be found again and again. He might have lucked out this time, as the Minister's spells had not worked for some reason, but surely there were more experienced investigators under the Ministry's employ who would be able to find him, invisible or not.

As the bus came to a screeching halt and allowed a portly witch on board, Harry waited, tense and expectant, for Ministry officials to follow, claiming to have detected the presence of his wand. But no one came but the portly witch, and no one but ordinary passengers boarded for the next several stops. Eventually, Harry stopped preparing himself to be arrested each time the bus halted. Obviously, they weren't looking for him on the bus any longer.

_Maybe being on the bus is keeping them from finding me? Maybe it's blocking whatever spell they're using to trace my wand, _he thought, cautiously moving to his feet and towards the back of the bus as the beds suddenly changed into plush armchairs. But he couldn't remain on the bus forever. No, he had to get somewhere they couldn't find him, somewhere they couldn't trace him… Somewhere they weren't _allowed_ to trace him.

And as the next wizard boarded the Knight Bus and asked to be let off in Dover, Harry knew what he had to do.

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><p><em>Salt and oil<em>, Harry thought, breathing in the scent of the coastal wind as he stepped off the Knight Bus close behind another wizard into the Port of Dover. His fingers clenched tightly around the Invisibility Cloak to prevent it from rippling away from him in the breeze. He squinted painfully against the afternoon sun, glaring at him as it reflected off the towering white cliffs surrounding the port.

Making his way towards the visitors' center for provisions, he wondered if this was the last he would ever see of his birth country. As soon as he stocked up on food and found a suitable vehicle to stow away in, he would be ferried across the English Channel and into France. He had no definitive plans beyond that, but he would tackle the issues of physical and financial security as soon as he was in a country that didn't want to snap his wand and throw him in jail.

He sighed despondently as he waited for someone to enter the shop before him – it wouldn't do for any staff or shoppers to see the door open of its own accord. By a stroke of luck, Harry noticed that someone had dropped a five-pound note on the ground, half-hidden beneath the trashcan beside the door. Harry stooped to grab it and righted himself just in time for a woman with two children to leave the building. He rushed forward to catch the door before it closed and slipped inside, passing through the small food court to the convenience store in the back.

Having joined the number of society's outcasts, Harry knew that at some point he would have to use less than legal means to survive – he would not always have the luxury of a choice in the matter. But he had the choice now, in this moment, having found that bit of cash. He was determined to spare himself the guilt of theft for as long as possible. With that in mind, Harry pressed into a small, hidden niche against the wall between a freezer full of drinks and a rack of travel brochures. Taking a deep breath, he slipped off his Cloak and casually stepped forward to grab a bag of snacks to pay for at the counter.

And almost immediately, there was a sharp, ringing _CRACK_ just outside the store, exactly like the sound Dobby made whenever he appeared or disappeared. Harry rushed back to the safety of his cloak just in time for a man in a flowered blouse and pinstriped suit pants to step through the door. Despite the ridiculous attire, the man's eyes were sharp and leery, his movements brisk and economical as he stalked through the store. Harry held his breath as shifty eyes passed over where he was hidden, crouched beneath his Cloak beside the rack of tourist pamphlets.

There was no doubt in his mind that this man was both a wizard and searching for him – some Ministry agent unaccustomed to Muggle attire. The door opened again a few minutes later, this time admitting a woman. She wore a pair of ratty jeans beneath a yellow sundress and she wasted no time in approaching the man. They stopped together just beside Harry and made a show of inspecting the rack of pamphlets.

"Any sign of Potter?" the man asked quietly through lips that did not move.

"None," the woman muttered back. "Dawlish is running general detection spells outside and around the grounds, but nothing so far. Finks is infiltrating the central office to check if he was captured on Muggle cameras, no word from him yet. Myers just got back from the Knight Bus. She combed it top to bottom, no trace of the boy, and we've identified the only wizard the conductor said disembarked here."

"Merlin, this is a mess," the man huffed. "How hard is it to track down one school boy? Even if he is Harry bloody Potter."

"It just doesn't make sense," the woman hissed. "HR was able to track his wand the whole time he was on the Knight Bus. Then, suddenly, as soon as it stops at the Leaky Cauldron, his signature completely disappears for five hours, and then it's back for all of seventeen seconds _here_ of all places, and then we arrive and there's no sign of him! Merlin, just _imagine_ trying to extradite him from France if he makes it across the Channel legally!"

"I know, Reynolds! Shit, we all get how big this is, but have some discretion! You don't go blurting out details like that in public, even if there's only Muggles around."

"…Sorry. I'm just tired, was on night watch over the Trace spell," she murmured as they moved away from the pamphlet rack and back towards the door.

"Yeah, we all are…" the man's voice cut off abruptly as the doors closed behind him.

_Damn_, Harry thought. _If they were checking security cameras, they might see that brief moment he had taken off the cloak_. There could be no more waiting – it was time to cross. Harry stepped cautiously out of his niche, being careful not to let the edges of his Cloak catch on anything. Glancing to make sure no one was around to see the doors open by themselves, he slipped outside and headed to the lines of vehicles waiting to board the ferry.

Passenger and family vehicles were off the list, he thought as he moved past a line of cars. It would be far too easy to knock against his body and detect his physical presence, even if they couldn't see him. _Now those, on the other hand_, he thought, eyeing a line of articulated lorries, _are just about perfect_.

It was the work of a moment to wait for a pair of inspection workers to roll up the back of one of the trucks and to slip in behind them, settling into the corner of the rear behind a large crate. He waited, still and silent, for them to finish examining the cargo. Oddly, a brief word with the driver had them stepping out without a glance in even one crate, but Harry shrugged this off, too relieved that he would not have to worry about evading them during the inspection.

As he was plunged into complete darkness, Harry moved to slip off the Invisibility Cloak before he froze, the wizards' conversation from in the convenience store replaying through his mind. For some reason, the moments when they were unable to track his wand corresponded to the times when he was hidden under the Cloak. Harry would never have guessed that the Cloak would keep him from being detected magically, but was not about to forgo this wonderful stroke of luck.

Sighing, Harry tore open the bag of chips he had stolen from the store and resigned himself to a very long, very dark, and very cramped trip across the English Channel into France.

Harry did not know how long into the trip he had fallen asleep, but he was awakened some time later by the sudden arrest of the engine's comforting rumble. Standing to shake out his stiff limbs, Harry went to hop off his temporary transportation in search of food, making his way carefully in the dark. He bent down to try rolling up the huge door, running his hands along the bottom – and paused. There was no handle on the inside.

"_Lumos,_" he whispered, lifting his wand before him, staring into each corner of the truck with increasing panic. No other doors, no safety latches. Perhaps an _alohomora_ to unlock the door, and then _wingardium leviosa_ to lift it…? But no, that was edging into the territory of more serious magic, spells that would surely alert French authorities to his illegal presence where he doubted a simple _lumos_ would. Harry stifled his wand and slumped back against the wall of the truck.

He would just have to wait until the cargo was unloaded. Hopefully that wouldn't be too long from now. His stomach was starting to ache, although thankfully he did not really need to use the bathroom, as he had not eaten since… he couldn't remember when. That really didn't bode well for the state of his stomach, but it wasn't as though he was unused to going long periods of time without food, courtesy of the Dursleys. With a discontented groan, Harry buried his face in his hands and resigned himself to an even longer wait.

Untold hours later, Harry was truly regretting his decision not to risk detection for the sake of a meal. By this point, it had to have been at least a day and a half, if not two, since he had last eaten, and still the truck had not arrived at its destination. He knew he could last much longer without food (and had before, with the Dursleys), but much longer without water and he would be in serious trouble.

As though bidden by his needs, the truck began decelerating and came to a halt with a sudden lurch. There was a scrabbling of activity and a rush of voices outside the metal walls and Harry felt his way carefully to the back, distancing himself from the door to be sure he was not in danger of being bumped into.

Harry was barely able to bite back his pained groan as the steel door rolled up and blindingly bright sunlight pierced the darkness of the truck. Squinting against the white smear across his vision, he was able to make out several dark figures appearing and breaking up the stark whiteness. His eyes finally adjusted, Harry could now tell the figures were several men and women in dark suits.

He watched, vaguely confused, as they began to unload the crates, murmuring amongst one another in a foreign language. They seemed rather too well dressed to be common laborers, after all. Nonetheless, they went about their work with the ease of long familiarity, working together flawlessly to unload the cargo.

And then another dark figure – smaller than the others – appeared at the end of the truck and the operation stuttered to a brief halt as the other workers froze and flinched away. The smaller figure made a light noise of inquisition and the workers immediately burst into action again, ferrying crates out of the truck at nearly double their previous speed.

Harry shuffled forward and cautiously raised himself to get a better glimpse at the new figure. His breathing echoed harshly in his ears and his heart pounded a furious rhythm against his sternum – something about this new development was making him very, very nervous.

And then came a voice, soft and sibilant, which Harry was quite sure he was justified his sudden apprehension.

"_Ushishishi_~ The prince smells a _rat_."

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><p>Well, there it is then. Hope you enjoyed the first installment, short though it may be. I'd love to hear what you think, if you spotted any errors, etc.<p>

Also, I'd like to hear opinions with regard to romance. I plan for this story to ignore the HP epilogue, to take place predominantly in the KHR side of things, and to be action-centered, but I don't mind some brief forays into romantic implications if you guys would like to see that. So: **later** romance yay or nay? And if so, which KHR character(s) would you like to see **older** Harry flirting with? I'm open to het and slash pairings, but again, nothing serious, as romance is not the focus of the story, and will not happen until Harry is older.

Thanks for reading!

~Breather


	2. Deal with the devil

**Chapter 2 – Deal with the Devil**

Um, wow. I don't think I've ever gotten such a great response to any chapter of any story I've posted before. Wonder what I did right this time? Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who followed or favorited (or both!) this story, and those of you who took the time to leave me a review are precious, precious angels made of rainbows and sunshine. Or something.

On to the next chapter!

**Warnings: **Mild violence

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize any names, terms, or concepts, that's because they don't belong to me.

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><p>"<em>Ushishishi~<em> The prince smells a _rat_."

Harry watched, breath caught in his throat, as a blond boy stepped further into the dark of the truck. The men all scattered at the sound of his voice, quickly dropping whatever cargo they were carrying and evacuating the truck. At first Harry didn't understand why fully grown men would be running from a child Harry's size, and presumably a couple years younger, but as soon as the child's face turned in his direction, he understood.

The boy's face was twisted into some horrible facsimile of a smile. It was broad and cruel and _insane_, like the bloodthirsty grimaces worn by the monsters in Dudley's television programs.

"Come now, don't be shy," the boy snickered, slipping his hands into his fitted black trench coat. Harry tensed at the motion, wondering what sort of weapon – for he had not doubt it _was_ a weapon – the boy was about to unveil.

"The prince only wants to _play!_" Punctuating the last word and faster than Harry's Quidditch-trained eyes could track, the boy flicked his hands out into view, letting several glinting metallic objects fan out across the inside of the truck. He wasn't sure what the boy had thrown, but knew enough not to let himself be hit.

Harry dove to the ground to avoid the projectiles, one of which speared into the metal where his head had been moments before – a strange, curved knife, he could now see. _Pierced into the metal!_ he thought hysterically. At the mouth of the truck, the boy pouted a bit before reaching back into his jacket. With a flick of his wrists, a second volley of knives scattered through the air, this time in a far wider and taller array – and far more numerous.

Harry scrambled to evade the blades that sliced through the air, trying for silence but utterly failing as his sneaker squeaked across the metal floor. Immediately, the boy's head whipped in his direction and the horrible grin widened beneath the mess of blond hair. A third series of blades – _how many did he have?!_ – concentrated fully on his location and this time Harry was unable to dodge.

A cold, heavy stone dropped to the bottom of his stomach as one knife sliced just past his cheek, catching on the Invisibility Cloak and tearing the fabric. The horror of the realization made him pause for one terrible second – _Idiot!_ he cursed himself – and a second knife plunged into the flesh of his left thigh.

Harry couldn't hold in his short screech of pain, muffled by biting his lips, as he collapsed to the floor, gripping his thigh around the knife. The boy was immediately upon him, crouched above him, hands grappling eagerly around the two rips in the fabric of his cloak.

"Well hello there, little rat," the boy cooed as he ripped the Cloak away from Harry. "Where did you get _this_? The prince demands to know!" he cackled, waving the Invisibility Cloak through the air. "Well, it doesn't really matter, the prince has this one now. Ushishishi~"

"No!" Harry shouted, attempting to lunge at the boy. He _couldn't _let him take his father's cloak! The boy dodged with a simple step to the side, cleanly and easily evading Harry's injury-clumsy tackle, then turned and smashed the butt of one of his knives into the back of Harry's head. Harry crashed to the ground, stars exploding in his eyes and his leg on fire. He groaned and curled into himself as the boy began to kick at his spine and sides with steel-toed boots.

"Stop, Belphegor," came a very small, very stern voice from the rear of the truck. Harry did not lift his head to look at the speaker, too concerned with protecting his face. Surprisingly, however, the boy paused in his kicking and turned half around, obviously not considering Harry enough of a threat to keep his eyes on. Away from the boy's eyes, Harry cautiously unfolded himself and made a grab for his wand – he had not had time to pull it from his pocket before, too preoccupied with dodging the boy's knives.

Now, though… Harry lifted the wand, a curse on his lips, when the floor of the truck _warped_, billowed and rippled and split open. With a terrific screech of metal, great vines burst from the floor and coiled around him, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him into the air. A startled scream escaped him before a vine closed around his mouth.

"None of that from you, boy," came that small, stern voice again. Harry cut his eyes – wild and panicked – back and forth across the length of the truck, searching for the speaker. Nothing, until the air just before his face rippled as though from a wave of heat and a small form appeared.

_A baby in a cloak_, Harry thought, dazed. _A _flying_ baby in a cloak_. The face was hidden, but that was clearly no obstacle for the baby as it floated around him, inspecting him and snatching his wand, before shoving close to his face. One small_ – so small! – _hand reached forward and brushed his fringe away from his forehead.

"Harry Potter!" the baby hissed quietly. Down below, the blond boy was pouting up at them.

"Mammon! No, I want to kill him! The prince _demands_ the stow-away's blood! _Mammon_!"

"Silence, boy. You are in no position to be making demands of me. You have some years yet before you join the squad, and some _decades_ yet before you'll be worthy of my consideration," the baby – Mammon – said breezily, brushing away the boy's protests. "Leave, now. I will deal with the stow-away!"

Belphegor began to screech at the order, throwing a temper tantrum that, had Harry been any less panicked, would have reminded him of Dudley. Then, just like with Harry, a wave of vines appeared to usher the boy out of the back of the truck, the suddenness of the movement ripping the Invisibility Cloak from his grip.

And then Harry blinked, and suddenly there were no vines, nor any sign that they had ever been there, the truck still fully intact and Harry still safely on the ground.

He jerked upright, staring at the baby that was _still_ floating in his face. Harry licked his lips and glanced briefly to the opening of the truck, wondering if the vines would catch him again if he tried to make a run for it. Perhaps if he moved very quickly…

"Don't even try it, boy," the baby said sharply. "Even if, by some miracle, you are able to free yourself from the grip of my illusions, Belphegor is waiting outside. And he cares nothing for celebrities – blood and flesh is all the same to him."

Harry swallowed and attempted to speak. "Please," he started. "I – I'm not sure who you are or where I am. I was just looking for a way to get across the Channel – the English Channel, you know – and then I couldn't get out of the truck, and –"

"Be quiet," Mammon snapped. "You think I can't tell intention from coincidence? What business could Harry Potter possibly have here? It could only be a series of incredible coincidences that led you. An incredibly _fortunate_ series of coincidences. For me, anyway."

Harry swallowed nervously, not liking the implications of that statement. His presence was not often a very fortunate thing, according to most people, and on the rare occasion it was, it rarely boded well for his well-being.

"You… know me, and you did that stuff before, so you must be magical, right? Um, maybe you could just point me to the nearest magical district, and I can get out of your hair–"

"Oh no, child. Don't think you can escape so easily. Accident though your presence may be, you still stowed away in our weapons shipment and infiltrated our base. Such infractions against the Famiglia cannot be without reprisal."

Harry stared, dumbfounded. _Weapons? Secret base? And a Famiglia? Dear Merlin, I've stumbled into the lap of a mafia syndicate. That apparently starts recruiting _very_ young, and knows about the magical world._

"Tell me, boy. Are you familiar with the concept of 'life debts?'"

Harry stared for a moment, a terrible foreboding washing over him, and slowly shook his head. Mammon's mouth curled up into a triumphant smirk.

"A life debt is incurred when one person saves the life of another, particularly when they ought not to. They apply to all humans, although they do not bear the same weight for all people. There is no obligation for the mundane human to comply. For wizards, there is an obligation, a magical contract, that requires repayment of that debt. For Mafiosi, there is a similar obligation, although it is cemented in place by our code of honor rather than by magic. I am both magical and mafia, and I have just saved your life from my comrade when it was his right to kill you for trespassing. Don't you agree?"

Harry worked his mouth, trying to force the words past ashen lips. "You're saying I owe you a life debt."

"Correct." Mammon's head tilted to the side, considering him. "But you are of no use to me at the moment. You are a child, barely trained, and I intend to get my money's worth out of you. When you have graduated from Hogwarts, you will return to me and repay your debt. Are we clear?"

"You… want me to go back," Harry whispered hoarsely, staring at the small figure incredulously. "No. _No_, they'll snap my wand! They'll throw me in prison, I can't go back!" he cried desperately.

"Oh, a criminal, are you? Hmm, moral ambiguity is a useful trait to have…"

"I'm not a criminal! Well, I am, but not like that! I've got morals, but she just– she _really_ deserved it, okay? But I didn't mean to blow her up!"

"That's a rather messy way to get rid of someone."

"Wha– _no_, she's not _dead_! Merlin, I didn't make her _explode_! She just blew up and flew away, like a balloon, after she insulted my parents."

Mammon scoffed. "Is that all? Boy, they won't snap your wand for such a small bit of accidental magic."

"The _Minister for Magic_ was looking for me himself!" Harry cried. "Something else must have happened, I don't know what, but please, _please_, I can't let them take my magic away. You understand, right? You're a wizard too, you must be," he pleaded desperately, voice rough from thirst and excitement.

As the baby stiffened and the light and warmth drained from the very air around him, Harry suddenly realized he had said something very wrong. His gut clenched anxiously as Mammon's mouth curled into a cruel, mocking sneer.

"Such _arrogance_, such _presumption_! How dare you suggest that my talents are comparable to your own! I, who have surpassed the constraints of the wand!" the baby screeched, inexplicably incensed.

"I – I'm sorry–" Harry stammered out, scrambling backwards away from the coldly furious infant.

"You should be! The _nerve_!" Mammon's small chest was heaving with rage. "I will forgive the insult this once, as you were unaware, but never refer to me as a wizard again. I have no need for your… _wanded_ magic." Mammon pronounced 'wanded' the same way Ron said 'Slytherin' or Snape said 'Potter,' as though it were mortally offensive and utterly reprehensible. Harry gulped nervously.

"I'm really sorry. F-for coming here, and for making you mad. But please, don't send me back."

Mammon huffed in annoyance. "Of course you're going back. I certainly have no time to train you into usefulness."

"But the ministry–"

"Is searching for the Boy-Who-Lived, a very famous twelve-year-old who went missing after a case of accidental magic. It would be a disastrous political scandal for your ministry to lose track of you. I assure you, your safe return to England will be met with celebration, not with punishment."

Harry bit his lip, unconvinced, but unsure how to convey to the baby that no, he was really very sure he had a one-way ticket to Azkaban. He wasn't exaggerating, damnit! Obviously reading the reticence in Harry's face, Mammon continued.

"You are an _investment_ to me, child, and I take my investments very seriously. I would not send you back unless I was entirely positive you would be safe for later use. On that note, you are to write to me quarterly so that I can keep track of your progress and to ensure that you haven't gone and died on me, in which case I will be very cross and may need to take out my frustration on your friends."

"No!" Harry yelled. "You can't do that, they have nothing to do with this!"

"Of course they do! They are your friends, are they not? Simply by being involved with you they are targets, both to your enemies and to all those looking to use you. Like _me_. An important lesson, boy: if you are too weak to protect your weaknesses, then be rid of them until you are stronger."

"I can't just– just _get rid of _my friends!"

"Then get stronger. Protect them," Mammon commanded. _Stronger. Protect_. There was something terrible and stark in the finality of those words, but they aroused in Harry the feeling that he was on the precipice of something great, something that burned behind his eyes and against the inside of his skull, crackling and popping like livewire. It filled him with vigor, with _invincibility_, but at the same time terrified him with its enormity. He let the feeling slip away and sagged in exhaustion, and did not see Mammon sigh in disappointment, and did not hear the quiet exhalation of 'Perhaps later…'

"Do we have a deal?" Mammon prodded after a moment, small voice cutting through the thick tension in the air. Harry kept his mouth resolutely shut and shuffled back to rest against the wall of the truck, letting his head hang down to press against his upturned knees. A glimmer of silver caught his eye and he looked to the side, noticing his Cloak lying in a crumpled heap beside him, where Belphegor had dropped it. Harry pulled it into his lap and breathed in the familiar dust-and-snow scent of the cloth. Soothed by the familiarity, he continued to think. It was obvious he would not be allowed to stay here, but he was still unconvinced that returning to England was safe, and if he tried to take a third option, Mammon would kill his friends. Harry had never felt so singularly helpless in his life.

"You cannot protect them if you are not there," Mammon cajoled. "There will be others, more ambitious and less understanding than I, who will use them. Who will _break_ them, just to get to you. Don't you want to be there to stop them, brave child?"

Harry dug his fingers into the cool silkiness of the Cloak, winced as his jaw creaked with the force of his grinding teeth, and then felt his whole body go slack as he finally ceded to Mammon's will. "Yeah," he muttered. "I'll go back, and I'll get really strong."

"Excellent." There was a pause as Mammon basked in the satisfaction of negotiating so wickedly skewed a deal. "Now come," the baby said sharply. "We must get you on a plane to England immediately, before your ministry drowns in panic."

"Can I get some water first?" Harry asked weakly, leaning heavily on the wall of the truck as he leveraged himself into a standing position. "It's been a couple days since I ate or drank anything."

"There will be refreshments on the plane," came the distracted reply as Mammon pulled out a miniature cell phone, help it up to a miniature ear, and began speaking in a language he could not understand.

Harry tried to stumble forward, but each step jostled the knife still in his leg. He hissed and gripped his thigh tightly, cringing at the tacky blood slipping sluggishly between his fingers. He was unfamiliar with healing and first aid despite his prodigious first-hand experience with injury, but knew enough to recognize that removing the curved knife improperly might cause more damage.

"Hurry up, boy! You have legs for a reason," Mammon called from ahead.

"There's a bloody _knife_ in my leg," Harry gritted out through a clenched jaw as he limped after the floating figure. Mammon glanced back at him and sighed.

"A mere flesh wound, and nowhere close to the artery," came the careless response. Harry stood resolutely still until, with a second huge sigh of exasperation, the infant floated back to him and, before he could protest, smoothly yanked the blade from his thigh. Harry cried out in shock and pain and fell back onto his rear, hovering protectively over the wound. He clutched at his thigh, shaking, and prepared to yell at the baby when the texture beneath his fingers suddenly _changed_.

Harry pulled his hands away and was shocked to see his bleeding thigh bound with clean white bandages, tight and constricting.

"Wha–?"

"The illusory bandage will last long enough for you to properly tend the wound. When you return to England, find some essence of dittany, a staple in any decent potions kit. One drop will suffice to heal the wound enough that stitches will be unnecessary."

"It's… so _real_," Harry whispered, running his fingers over the bandages and feeling the pattern and fibers of the fabric. Spots of blood began blooming against the white, spreading as though the medium were a real bandage. "Just like those vines."

Mammon puffed up importantly and said proudly, "I am the considered the greatest illusionist in the world. Now make haste! It would not do for the others to meet you, not yet."

Harry heaved a sigh and pulled himself to his feet, testing his injured leg with a light step forward. When the bandages did not disappear or become more stained with blood, he deemed himself well enough to limp after the floating infant.

Harry took a deep breath, muscles straining to keep himself upright against the drag of his hunger and injuries, and stepped out of the truck into the light.

* * *

><p>Mammon. Mammon, stop emotionally manipulating the twelve-year-old boy, it's not cool.<p>

Speaking of, I went this entire chapter without using a single gender-specific pronoun relating to Mammon. It was surprisingly difficult, but a good exercise in varying sentence structure. I've got my own headcanon for Mammon's gender, to be revealed later, but what do you guys think, male or female?

Also, a **call for help**: I need your cheesiest, most ridiculous pick-up lines. Possibly the sort to comment on the eyes of the victim (I really can't think of a better way to label someone subjected to horrible pick-up lines), but really anything that's just plain horrible and awkward.


	3. Interlude - Correspondence

**Interlude – Correspondence**

Very short interlude chapter here, sorry about that. After this time skip, though, chapters will be getting longer and more action-packed.

**Warnings: **Mammon being a dick

**Disclaimer: **If you recognize any names, terms, or concepts, that's because they're not mine.

* * *

><p><strong>Third Year<strong>

_Dear Mr. Mammon,_

_I'm back at Hogwarts and they weren't too mad at me, just like you said. Apparently a mass murderer is after me though, which is why the Minister himself was looking for me. I'll be careful not to let him kill me (the serial killer, not the Minister)._

_Thanks for not killing me,  
>Harry Potter<br>_

IIII

_Harry,_

_You seem to have a knack for focusing on precisely the wrong pieces of information. Anyone else would be irritated by the complete uselessness of your missive, but seeing as I don't care about your happiness and well-being so much as your continued existence, it doesn't actually matter. The appellation to my name does, however, grate, and you will cease immediately unless you would like my next response to shrivel your unmentionables._

_I will expect another letter in the winter.  
>-M.<em>

IIII

_Dear Mammon,_

_Sirius Black still hasn't killed me, but he's trying very hard. Apparently he's also the reason my parents were killed, and the only reason I'm not going after him myself is because I owe you. Hope you're happy._

_From,  
>Harry<em>

IIII

_Harry,_

_How cute and cheeky you are, safe behind your letters and a thousand miles away. I do, however, commend your resolve and self-restraint, and am quite pleased to know that you yet live. You should be pleased as well, for the sake of your dear friends._

_-M._

IIII

_Dear Mammon,_

_So it turns out Sirius Black wasn't trying to kill me, he's actually my godfather and wants to adopt me, but before he told me that he was trying to kill my best friend Ron's rat who was actually the guy who sold out my parents and who everyone thought was dead but wasn't but he's gone now (run away again, not dead). I'm still alive, although I almost got mauled by a werewolf and then Kissed by a bunch of dementors. I'll write you again when I'm off to fourth year._

_Harry_

IIII

_Harry,_

_Your mastery of run-on sentences is truly impressive. Did you perhaps talk those beasts into oblivion to escape from them? I expect your next letter to be more intelligible. I will not suffer such disrespect again._

_-M._

**Fourth Year**

_Dear Mammon, _

_There was a bit of trouble towards the end of summer, but nothing aimed at me personally, for once. It was a sort of riot at the end of the Quidditch World Cup, but I wasn't hurt and no one died. School is just starting up and it looks to be an exciting year with a magical tournament, although thankfully I'll just be watching this time around. _

_From,  
>Harry<em>

IIII

_Harry,  
><em>

_So glad to know that my investment will not be willingly throwing itself into life-threatening situations again. You make for an unfortunately high-risk asset, valuable only after much jeopardy. Nonetheless, I have great expectations for you. Do not disappoint me, and do not become complacent in your studies and growth this year._

_-M._

IIII

_Dear Mammon,_

_I'm sure you're surprised to receive another letter so soon after the last, but I thought you should know that this year will be more exciting for me than I first thought. Somehow I've been entered into a competition that's supposed to be only for seventeen-year-olds, and has only just been reinstated after too many incidences of death in competitors in the past. The professors assure me that I'll be safe as possible during the tasks, but I'm a bit more worried about the reactions from other students. As always, I'll try to stay safe._

_Wishing people would just leave me alone,  
>Harry<em>

IIII

_Harry,_

_I have never before encountered a human with the same capacity for trouble as you. Surely by now you have sufficient practice at working your way out of life-threatening situations – or perhaps it is simply those around you that excel at keeping you alive. Regardless, I advise you take no unnecessary risks; there are others dependant on your survival as well, remember._

_-M._

IIII

_Dear Mammon,_

_I survived the first task well enough, and the next one isn't until February – I'll let you know how that goes, too. I've got another challenge coming up sooner, though, but I think I'd rather face the dragon again. I don't suppose you have any sure-fire way of getting a date without embarrassing yourself in the process, do you?_

_Hating puberty,  
>Harry<em>

IIII

_Harry,_

_A companion of mine – and acquaintance of yours – assures me that the best way to secure a date is to threaten her with knives. I would suggest the more subtle approach of asking if she would perhaps like to dance. _

_-M._

IIII

_Dear Mammon,_

_The second task went well, and girls aren't as scary as they seemed two months ago. I'll let you know about the final task at the end of the school year._

_Not hating puberty quite so much,  
>Harry<em>

IIII

_Harry,_

_I would worry for the state of my investment if school-boy romance were a greater deterrent than dementors and dragons. _

_-M._

IIII

_Dear Mammon,_

_The final task was horrible. I'm alive, but another competitor was murdered. A Death Eater was the one who me entered to begin with, so that he could isolate me at the end and use my blood in a ritual to bring Voldemort back to his body. It was really bad, and I almost died, but a lot of coincidences and good luck let me get away. It will be harder to keep my promise now that he's back, but I'll try._

_Harry_

IIII

_Harry,_

_You are the sort to flourish under adversity. Traumatic as this encounter may seem, know that emerging alive and victorious has only made you stronger. Use this tragedy as motivation to continue to grow, so that next time you may force circumstances to your favor._

_-M._

**Fifth Year**

_Dear Mammon,_

_I meant to send this letter sooner, but Hedwig's been gone for a few days trying to get responses from some of my friends, and then I had to wait for some news to share with you, and then do some sneaking to get this letter out. The people I'm staying with now don't want me to be sending mail for security reasons. Sorry about that. There was an incident a couple weeks ago where I was forced to use magic to protect myself and was expelled, but I had a hearing and the sentence was repealed, so everything's fine and still on track. Please don't send a response to this letter, I don't want it to come while there's other people around._

_Until later,  
>Harry<em>

IIII

_Dear M,_

_Sorry this letter's so late in coming, but I've had a really busy year so far. I've been really plied down with homework, O.W.L.s coming up and all. School management has taken a bit of a turn towards the more organized, too, and it's been a little difficult to adjust. I've not been getting much sleep lately, between the homework, the new rules, and this snake I keep seeing in the tower that comes out at night – someone's loose pet, no doubt. Speaking of loose animals, this toad's gone rogue (too much time as a Potions' test subject, I expect) and it's gone so far as to attack people's owls, if you believe it! Hedwig was even hurt, but she's all right now. But anyways, just wanted to let you know that I'm still hale and whole, although it's starting to look like it might be hard to visit once school is over. I'm doing my best to get conflicting interests all sorted out, though, I promise!_

_Love,  
>Harry<em>

IIII

_My Dear Harry,_

_I'm so glad to hear that you are well, difficulty sleeping notwithstanding. I truly hope you manage to sort out any issues, as it would be most unfortunate if we were unable to see each other again. _

_Warm regards,  
>M<em>

IIII

_Dear Mammon,_

_I did something really really stupid, sorry. I walked into a trap set by Voldemort and dragged my closest friends along with me. I'm fine, but all of my friends were hurt and Sirius was killed. At this rate you won't have anyone left to take revenge on if I'm killed before paying my debt, because I would have led everyone I love to their deaths first._

IIII

_Harry,_

_I will not stand for a useless investment, disabled by emotional liability. Get a hold of yourself, learn from your mistakes, and be resolved. That is the only way to live._

_-M._

**Sixth Year**

_Dear Mammon,_

_I've got myself together, I guess. Sorry about the last letter. I was really upset, but thanks for encouraging me, sort of. I'll be more careful from now on, think more about the possibilities, not let little details slip by me. I don't want anyone to get hurt again because I was too careless or oblivious. _

_Harry_

IIII

_Harry,_

_A measure of caution is admirable, but take care not to slip into paranoia or obsession. Extremes of any kind are dangerous and counter-productive._

_-M._

IIII

_Dear Mammon,_

_A lot of strange things are happening lately. A lot of people are getting hurt in strange ways, and I suspect another student has something to do with the attacks, or is at least involved in nasty business. No one believes me, though, but I'll catch him before he kills anyone._

_At least I'm not the target this time,  
>Harry<em>

IIII

_Harry,_

_I wonder if my last missive reached you. I hope that is the case, for anything else would be an inexcusable disrespect to me. I do not offer advice lightly or freely, and I will not stand to have my words so disregarded._

_-M._

**Seventh Year**

_Dear Mammon,_

_I know it's been a long time since my last letter, and I'm sorry, but this will also be my last letter to you for a while. The end of the last school was a tragedy that I'm sure you've read about in the paper, so I hope you understand when I say that I'm afraid I might not live long enough to finish school and pay off my debt to you. After everything that's happened, I'm left with no choice but to fight this war. I'll try to survive it, but there's a good chance I won't. In case I die, I've willed two-thirds of my assets to you. Hopefully that's an acceptable compromise, so please don't kill my friends; they've got enough mad men after them already. I've enclosed a list of everything that will go to you if I die, and I really hope I don't, but it's necessary that I take the risk._

_Hoping to see you again one day,  
>Harry Potter<em>

IIII

_Foolish boy!_

_This is not an acceptable compromise! Your efforts have spared the life of one friend, but I swear to you, the moment your death is broadcasted across the wizarding world, the deaths of your loved ones will follow in short order!_

**Post-Hogwarts**

_Dear Mammon,_

_I'm still alive, despite what my friends assure me are my best efforts to the contrary. I'm not planning on going back for my last year of Hogwarts, but I've been given an honourary degree and I'm in training to be an Auror now. So I guess let me know when you need me, and I'll be there to fulfill our promise._

_Surprisingly happy to be writing you again,  
>Harry<em>

IIII

_Harry,_

_It is time for you to make good on the debt between us. Come promptly. My Floo address is 'Mammon's Suite, Varia Headquarters, Tuscany, Italy.' I expect you to burn this missive immediately upon memorization._

_-M._

* * *

><p>So yeah, super short interlude, and then we'll get to the good stuff :) I'm not entirely sure I like the way this is formatted. I tried to separate the letters clearly in a way that wasn't too ugly or blatant and is also FFN friendly (which is actually quite difficult), but if anyone has serious problems with the format or just flat out finds it confusing or annoying, please let me know.<p>

Please note that despite this correspondence, there are no significant changes from canon (except that I'm ignoring the epilogue and certain events leading up to the epilogue). Harry will certainly have been thinking about Mammon and the life debt and will have made some token effort to stay safe, but at his basest Harry is hot-tempered and rash, and any conflicts in front of him would have been a more immediate concern than Mammon's threat. Also, Harry's compromise would actually have been acceptable to Mammon – she wouldn't have killed his friends in the event of his death, having received such considerable wealth from his passing. She was just pissed.

In other news, the romance and pick-up line polls are still active if you have any more suggestions! Thanks for reading, and I hope this chapter was at least somewhat satisfactory.


	4. When in Rome

**CHAPTER 3 – When in Rome**

**Warnings**: Strong language of the Varia sort

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize any names, terms, or concepts, that's because they're not mine.

* * *

><p>Harry stared at the letter in his hands, face drawn and grave. Across his kitchen table, Ron and Hermione were giving him concerned looks. Well, Hermione was; Ron was too preoccupied with chewing his bacon to dedicate his face to any particular expression.<p>

"Harry?" Hermione started tentatively. "It's not bad news, is it?"

Harry grimaced. "Not _bad,_ exactly. Not good, either. Just inevitable, I guess." He paused for a minute to gather his thoughts. "Remember that time just before third year? How I blew up my aunt and ran away and stuff?" Upon returning to England in the private jet Mammon had secured for his temporary use, Harry had again summoned the Knight Bus to take him to The Leaky Cauldron. Stan Shunpike had immediately recognized him this time around and had questioned him relentlessly on the short trip through London, although he could not seem to stop referring to him as 'Neville.'

Just as before, Cornelius Fudge – this time flanked by two wizards in official robes he later learned were called Aurors – was waiting for him. The man had immediately burst forward, flustering around him and peppering him with questions. Harry was oddly reminded of a pinstriped chicken.

He had spun a deceptively simple story of panicking after using accidental magic, boarding the Knight Bus, and getting off on the wrong stop. _But it was really a very interesting place, Mr. Minister – have you ever been to Moslington, sir? No? Pity – and I just couldn't help but explore for a few days. No, sir, I haven't the faintest idea why you couldn't trace my wand, I didn't even know that was possible! Terribly sorry to have worried you, really didn't mean to hurt anyone, I'm not expelled, am I, sir?_

The minister's relief had been palpable as the man clucked out a few token reprimands before directing him into The Leaky Cauldron, where Harry had been thrilled to spend the next two weeks on his own. Harry had been inwardly goggling the entire time at the ease with which he had been absolved of his crime – Mammon was right! And even better, the minister had been too relieved to care about the obvious holes in his story, and had even scolded the Aurors when they attempted to question him further, sweeping the whole matter under rug with a boisterous, "Boys will be boys!"

Ron and Hermione had received the true tale the moment they had a bit of privacy, and they had been properly horrified (well, after a time; Hermione had required a detailed explanation of life debts from Ron, and Ron had received a similar lecture from Hermione about the mafia before their faces had twisted with understanding at the full severity of the event). After much scolding and fussing, they had all eventually become resigned to the fact that Harry was both well and truly stuck, and also, simultaneously, the single luckiest and unluckiest person they had ever encountered.

But life went on, rapidly and dynamically, as it was wont to do for growing children. It had been such a long time since sending his last letter to Mammon almost a year ago that Harry had nearly forgotten about it entirely.

"How could we forget?" said Ron exasperatedly. "Even if it wasn't, you know, _my best friend_ going missing for days, I'd still remember just because of Mum. Hadn't ever seen her so, you know," he made a vague gesture with his hand meant to convey the entirety of Mrs. Weasley's stalwart matronly concern, "before." Harry and Hermione nodded in understanding. The three took a brief moment to commiserate silently.

"Anyway," Ron continued wryly, "yeah, we remember."

"Oh, Harry, it isn't that– that _criminal_, is it?" Hermione fretted. "It's just horrible, to threaten a twelve year old boy like that and then to expect him to hold up a life debt! Really, you were just a child, there's no reason you should be accountable for–"

"He already agreed to it, 'Mione," Ron interrupted, before she could build steam for a rant. "Can't back out now."

Hermione deflated with a frustrated huff and began to knead her brow. "Yes, I know that. It's just terrible, though, that you have this obligation on top of everything you've had to go through."

"You're telling me," Harry muttered resignedly. "Anyway, Mammon's demanding that I fulfill the debt immediately, so I've got to go now."

"Wha– surely not _right_ now! You've got work, you can't just take off without any warning!" Hermione exclaimed. As always, she considered skiving off work for any excuse to be a nearly criminal offense.

"I'll have to use my sick days, I guess… No way the Head Auror will give me any leeway for this," Harry said thoughtfully rising and moving into the bedroom of his apartment to begin packing.

"Yeah, Brouster's a real hard-arse," Ron agreed. "Especially with you. 'The number one cause of Auror death is _ego_, Potter! You may think you're all that, but you can take a cutting curse the same as the rest of us!' Psh, what a load. I've met _librarians_ with bigger egos than you."

Hermione eyed her boyfriend oddly. "You know librarians, Ron?"

His ears flushed a brilliant Weasley red as he ducked his head, shoveling food into his mouth with a muttered, "It was an _example_."

Harry chuckled. "I reckon I can drop a word to Kingsley on my way. He'll understand and excuse me, and if I'm lucky he'll even break the news to Brouster for me."

Hermione turned sad eyes on him. "You're really going?" At his nod, her face settled into stark, determined lines. "Then we're going too. Right Ron?"

He looked at her, confused. "Why're you asking? I thought it went unsaid."

Harry grinned. "Sorry guys, but I'm going this one alone. Not that I don't want your help, but I don't think Mammon would like me giving away his location."

"Well, this Mammon will just have to adjust and be grateful," Hermione said primly, drawing herself up in a way Harry and Ron and… really the entire ministry had learned to be wary of.

"Look, Hermione, Mammon really isn't someone I want to make more problems with. I just want this whole thing over and done with as easily as possible. How about I go on my own, and once I'm there I'll ask if it's okay for you guys to come?"

Hermione glowered at him balefully, but Ron looked thoughtful.

"That's probably the best option," he said. When Hermione turned her Basilisk glare on him too, he scowled back. "Oh come off it, you know this is the safest way to do things."

"Well, if you're all decided…" Harry started, lifting his emergency knapsack onto his back with a grunt, "then I'll shove off. I need to drop in on Kingsley on my way to the International Floo Offices, and I don't want to waste any more time."

"Wait– Isn't Kingsley on the Riviera until Saturday with the other ministers of the coalition?" Ron recalled.

"Oh, that's right! I'll talk to him for you when he gets back, Harry, alright?" Hermione said, apparently resigned to his leaving and now eager to help him in any way she could.

Harry smiled, relieved. "Yeah, thanks a lot. All right, I'll send you guys a message once I get there. Say bye to the others for me, okay?"

And before they could prolong their goodbyes – long goodbyes always made him feel as though he would not be seeing them for a long time, and that was not the feeling he wanted to embark with – Harry turned on his heel with a sharp _Pop!_ and abruptly found himself in the cool side alley that was the designated Apparition point across from the International Floo Offices, Diagon chapter.

He fixed on his face what Ginny had once told him was a charming smile and made his way to the office receptionist, who looked unduly bored with his presence.

"Hi there," he offered cheerfully. "I'd like to use a Floo, please."

"Do you have an appointment?" came the drawling reply.

Harry grimaced as he paid the exorbitant fee for not making a prior appointment and made his way to the back, for access to the private Floo. Glancing at the paper in his hand once more and then burning it, he stepped into the green fire.

"Mammon's Suite, Varia Headquarters, Tuscany, Italy!"

It took several long moments for Harry's eyes to adjust to 'Mammon's Suite' after stumbling out of the retina-burning green of the Floo fire.

The room he found himself in was on the large side – perhaps a quarter the size of the Hogwarts Great Hall – with a high arcing ceiling and circular walls, although it gave the impression of being very small by merit of all the clutter. The rounded walls were lined with great bookcases, towering things that reached the ceiling and which were entirely loaded with well-kept, dust-free tomes, while the center of the room was packed with a maze of filing cabinets.

A single desk sat squarely in the middle, directly between the fireplace and the door, which stood on opposite ends of the room. It was adorned with a desktop computer, a small laptop, a lamp, and a single piece of folded paper. Askew from the desk was an odd chair, with a disproportionally small seat and legs that reached the top of the desk.

But more noticeable than anything, the room was very, very dark. In the gaps between bookcases, Harry could make out black blinder curtains covering what must have been very large windows. The only light in the room came from the small desk lamp, casting eerie shadows that flickered among the cabinets and shelves.

Harry tentatively moved closer to the desk, feeling that the paper there might be meant for him, to account for the lack of a real person there to greet him.

_Harry_, the letter read,

_Wait in this room while I take care of some business. Touch nothing._

_-M._

"Bloody great to see you too, wanker," Harry muttered. He dropped the letter back to the desk and looked around. It would be awfully hard not to touch anything in such a crowded room, he thought vindictively as he casually leaned his full weight on the filing cabinet nearest to him, shoving it a centimeter to the right.

"I saw that!" came a very small, very stern voice. Harry jumped in fright, utterly unappreciative of the nostalgia as he scanned the room for a figure he could not see.

But there, a distortion against the crescent of light emanating from the closed door across the room. It was Mammon, still small, cloaked, and floating, and now puffed up with righteous indignation.

"I would have thought you would have learned respect by now!"

"I would have thought you wouldn't still be a baby after six years," Harry returned, squinting confusedly. "Although I probably shouldn't be surprised. You never actually seemed to be younger than me." Mammon huffed, irritated, but accepted the unsubtle diversion.

"Yes, well, that's where you come in. You've obviously already gathered that despite my appearance, I am no more an infant than you are. This is a curse, and I have been given an opportunity to be rid of it. I will have you help me in this."

Harry stared. "I've only just graduated from being an Auror trainee. I know _nothing_ about curse-breaking, you realize."

"If the curse was that easy to break, I would have done it myself or hired someone else forty years ago," Mammon grumbled. "No, the man who cursed me and six others is offering to remove the spell from one of us…"

Harry listened, half-disbelieving, as the infant wove a far-fetched tale of six indescribably talented humans, whose power spelled their own downfall. Mammon spoke caustically of a cruel mastermind who had tricked them with glory and riches and _challenge, _had then cursed them and left them to flounder in the ruins of their successes, and was now taunting them with freedom – if only they would fight amongst themselves, first, and drag their allies along with them.

Harry didn't say it, but the tale distinctly reminded him of another callous manipulator who was quite willing to take advantage of the unsuspecting.

"So you've picked me to be your representative?" he said finally. Mammon's head shook in the negative.

"I've chosen you to be one of my representatives. There are five others you will be working with, fellow members of the Varia."

Harry sent the baby a questioning look.

"We are the elite assassination squad of the Vongola Famiglia, the most powerful mafia family in Italy, and the third most powerful in the world."

Harry grimaced in distaste. While he had done his fair share of law breaking in the past, he was far from thrilled to be working with people from organized crime, particularly assassins. His boss would have a fit if he ever found out, and Harry would be out of a job.

"What makes you think I'll be able to help here?" Harry frowned. "If you've got an entire elite assassin squad on your side, what do you need me for? It seems like overkill." Harry cursed himself for articulating the thought; he couldn't see how he was necessary in this, so he probably wouldn't even have to fight at all. This was the best, easiest way for him to repay the debt – to be unnecessary insurance.

"Normally I would agree. However, the other Arcobaleno will surely be assembling powerful teams as well, with representatives capable of matching the Varia and who are likely familiar with our methods and fighting styles. _You_ are an unknown. The mafia world is largely unfamiliar with the magical world, myself excluded. No one will know what to expect from you, and that will serve our team well."

Harry stared disbelievingly. "What do you mean they don't know about the magical world?! Don't tell me you want _me_ to break the Statute of Secrecy!"

"It's not as though the others are unaware that some of my abilities… can not be explained by normal Mafia standards."

_The Mafia has standards of normalcy?_ Harry was tempted to ask, but instead chose to say, "Then why are you still, you know, around? If you spilled about the magical world to the whole _Mafia_, then why haven't you been arrested by the Italian Ministry?"

"As if any prison in the world could hold me. At any rate, I don't answer to any Wizarding government," came the lofty reply. Mammon paused here, seeming hesitant, but eventually disclosed, "I am considered a Squib by all international technical definitions, although that does not preclude me from performing some branches of traditional magic."

"But then your family would–" _be punished in your stead_, Harry started to say, but was interrupted.

"My blood relations disposed of me long ago." The declaration was short and tense and tight with bitterness. Despite the many ways this person had wronged him, Harry could not bring himself to press further. He decided to switch tracks.

"You said before that I'm an unknown because of my magic. But if they know that you have magic, too, then…"

Mammon sighed. "They are all aware of the existence of certain… superhuman abilities. Divination is uncommon, but I am well known to be a master of the art. Any Mafioso worth considering is similarly capable of feats that most wizards would mistakenly call magic. However, the mafia remains largely ignorant that there is an entire society revolving around the use of magic, hidden away from the rest of the world."

"So they know about some basic magic, but not about wizards. Is the mafia made up of muggleborns or something?"

"Divination is hardly basic," Mammon said, stiff with affront and focusing on entirely the wrong part of Harry's question.

"I never said it was simple, just that it doesn't require, you know, all the wand-waving and spell books and such. It's just pure, basic magic," Harry assured hurriedly. He vaguely recalled from several years ago that Mammon was… _unnerving_ when insulted.

Mammon seemed mollified by the explanation, huffing a little before floating down to the ground. Harry watched, fascinated, as the golden halo that he had always seen floating over Mammon's head morphed into a dark frog, which landed on the baby's head and dove into the shadows of the hood.

"Come along. I'll take you to meet the others."

Harry obediently fell into step behind Mammon, feeling a little off-kilter at having to rush his steps to keep pace with an infant's long, brisk strides. Harry blinked rapidly, relieved, when they passed through the door to the library into a more well-lit hallway.

"I'll show you to the boss, first," Mammon said briskly. "Xanxus. When you meet him, don't stare into his eyes or at his face. I will introduce you and explain your purpose, so say nothing unless he asks you a question. In that case, answer calmly, concisely, and honestly. You probably won't get shot."

Harry stared. "Is that common, then? People getting shot by your boss?"

"Yes," Mammon said unconcernedly. "Be extra polite, since he might be offended that I've brought in outside assistance." Harry wanted to ask for clarification, but Mammon seemed to feel that was all the knowledge and warning necessary to meet this apparently violent boss, so Harry switched tracks, returning to their previous conversation.

"What did you mean about the mafia being capable of things that are like magic?" Harry asked again.

"The most powerful and influential Mafiosi are able to access the energy of life and body, called Wave Energy. By harnessing and refining this energy, most commonly through specialized weapons and accessories, they are able to manifest very high-density Dying Will Flames, which can be directly manipulated for battle purposes. There are several types of flames, each with different characteristics and capabilities, although most people are only able to use one type of flame with any practicality. Not all humans are innately capable of accessing and honing their wave energy, but if they are, they are picked up and trained by the criminal underworld. Or eliminated, if they refuse."

Harry thought about that for a minute, trying to absorb the implications of _the mafia having a monopoly on non-wizard super humans_. And then he tried _not_ to think about that.

"What–"

"No more questions," Mammon said briskly, cutting through his query. "We're here." Harry looked up to find a tall, dark double door before them, embossed with some elaborate emblem. Mammon raised a small fist and rapped sharply.

"Boss, it's me, Mammon. There is someone here I'd like you to meet," the baby called through the door.

"Bring 'em in." Harry shivered at the voice that responded, deep and raspy. Languid though it was at the moment, it was the voice of someone used to roaring and raging. It was a harshness Harry had heard in himself in the past, when life was at its most frustrating and he had vented his fury on those around him. It did not bode well for the coming meeting.

A young man, perhaps a few years older than Harry, was sprawled indolently across a black leather wingback chair, set before a wide-open window. He had the typical swarthy coloration of a Southern Italian and was of average height and build, and could have passed for attractive-but-normal were it not for the ferocious scars across his face and the violently red eyes. With a glass tumbler in one hand and the other fisted and supporting his chin, his eyes sharp despite the lax position, the man was every inch the bored noble.

"Who the fuck is this scum?" the man growled. Harry's eyes narrowed at the insult, and the Varia leader quirked one eyebrow in response.

"Harry Potter," he bit out. "Mammon called in a life debt to have me help break the curse."

"You think we _need_ your help, trash?" The man's lip curled in derision as he raked blatantly unimpressed eyes down Harry's form.

"Maybe you should ask Mammon," the wizard retorted, straining to keep his face neutral.

"Boss, I just don't want to take any chances here. Please, I don't want to be cursed anymore," Mammon interjected quietly, before Harry's hackles could rise anymore.

Xanxus snorted and threw back his glass of sharp-smelling amber drink in one sudden movement with the ease of familiarity. "Can the little shit even fight?"

"I–!" Harry started furiously, before his voice cut off sharply as he choked and gasped and _why was his mouth so empty?_ _Dear Merlin, where was his _tongue?! His hand shot up to grasp at his jaw as he tried to force sound through his throat, to no avail.

"Don't bother," Mammon said, ostensibly flippant, but with a strange tightness of tone that belied nervous tension. "Your mind currently believes you have no tongue or vocal cords."

Xanxus let out a low, derisive chuckle at his predicament. "It's fucking useless to have a temper if you don't have the strength to back it up, you trash."

"He's competent, boss, and completely unknown to our competition. I promise he won't get in the way, at least." There was a long, heavy silence as Xanxus stared at Harry, gauging and condescending, before he snorted and flipped a hand at them.

"Whatever, he can come along. Now get out of here."

"You're lucky he was in a good mood today," Mammon said once they were safely back out in the hall with the doors closed behind them, allowing the illusion to dissipate. Harry immediately began running his tongue across his teeth and behind his lips, reveling in being able to feel it again. "Normally he would have at least thrown a bottle at you for your disrespect."

"_My_ disrespect?" Harry said incredulously, pressing his tongue into the corners of his mouth. "He's the one who–"

"Xanxus has earned his position, and his strength entitles him to speak his mind."

Harry sneered. "So, what, just because he's the big man in charge it means no one else is entitled to human decency? And correct me if I'm wrong, but you've got decades of experience over him, and you just let him order you around like a slave?"

"Silence! You have no comprehension of the situation," Mammon seethed. "And I'd advise you not to air those thoughts around the rest of the team. Our loyalty to Xanxus is absolute for reasons you are incapable of understanding."

"What I _understand_ is that he's a great, bloody arse–"

"You really have a temper, don't you?" Mammon snorted, cutting across his rising voice.

"I just hate people who talk down to me," Harry muttered, with what was decidedly _not_ a pout on his face.

"You'll have to get used to it in this company," Mammon replied, a vaguely amused smirk quirking normally down-turned lips. "We tend not to check our tongues, here."

Harry had nothing to say to that, so he followed silently behind the infant, seething quietly. To distract himself, he turned his attention to the halls around him. The high stone walls were lined with fine tapestries, vibrant portraits, and antique weapons. Arced windows looked out over lush forests and hills and offered a glimpse of worn bastions and buttresses. _It's like a mini-Hogwarts_, Harry thought amusedly.

"This is one of the more popular lounges. At any time, you are likely to find at least one other member here," Mammon explained, coming to a halt and easing open another old wooden door. The room within was decorated in the same style as the rest of the headquarters Harry had seen, but boasted luxuriously plush red furniture and several wide-screen televisions. Seated before one of the screens across the room, two figures were yelling and shoving at each other, game controllers in hand.

When the door opened, both turned away from their game to glance back. Harry couldn't help the dismayed scowl that stole across his face at the sight of an unfortunately familiar figure. Jaunty silver crown, face half-covered by ash-blond hair, and cruel broad grin; it was undoubtedly Belphegor, the maniac who had stabbed Harry all those years ago. Apparently he'd been promoted.

Seated beside him was a large man with a wild mass of spiky black hair, numerous facial piercings, and a set of rather extraordinary sideburns. His face twisted up in aggressive confusion.

"Who's the little punk, huh? Bel, you know him?"

The blond stared at him, blank-faced for a moment in what Harry decided was likely surprise, before his mouth twisted into something with too many teeth and too much gum to be called a grin.

"This is Harry, Levi, he's–" but Mammon's voice was cut off as Belphegor lurched suddenly to his feet.

"Well, well, it's been too long, little rat! Ushishishi~" came the single most unpleasant voice Harry had ever heard. "I wonder if you're here to finally return the Prince's wonderful cloak."

"It was never yours," Harry retorted, glaring at the younger man.

"The prince begs to differ!" Bel snarled, leaping at him, hands outstretched. Harry scrambled backwards while the large man on the couch surged upwards, alarmed.

"Bel, Levi, calm down, he's–" Mammon tried again, to no avail as Belphegor rushed past, cackling madly and knocking over a table and lamp in his single-minded pursuit. Mammon just sighed and waved a hand to call Levi off, apparently unconcerned about the maniac trying to strangle Harry.

"VOOOIII! What the fuck is going on in here!" came a bellowing roar, accompanied by the crack of the door flying off its hinges and slamming into the wall. Belphegor paused in his assault and Harry took advantage of the reprieve to distance himself from the maniac, seeking pitiful refuge behind a couch. He chanced a look at the open doorway and saw two more men there, one tall and slender with very long white hair and another, more muscular than the first, with a green Mohawk and sunglasses. "And who the fuck is this?" the long-haired man barked.

"This is Harry, Squalo. I've called him in as another representative. Boss already gave him the OK," Mammon assured quickly, seeming relieved to have finally gotten the explanation out. The now-named Squalo eyed Harry suspiciously.

"Looks like a weakling, but if the Boss didn't kill him, he must have some redeeming features."

"Oh, well aren't you just the cutest thing!" the man with sunglasses squealed excitedly, pushing past the other and rushing closer to him. "Just _look_ at these eyes! Squ, they're absolutely your type, right?"

"Che, maybe on a woman," the long-haired man sneered. Despite the curled lip, his gaze was reluctantly curious as he considered Harry.

"Oh, don't bother with him," the flamboyant man said flippantly. "I'm Lussuria, sweetie. How do you know Mammon? And Bel, apparently," he hummed with a quirked brow in the direction of a sulking Belphegor, who seemed to have reluctantly ended his assault. Harry coughed uncomfortably.

"Um. I accidentally stowed away in a weapons shipment a few years ago. Belphegor found me and Mammon stopped him from killing me, so I owed a life debt," Harry answered shortly.

"Mammon wouldn't have let you go if you didn't have anything big to offer, or if you didn't have potential," the white-haired commander said, eyeing him contemplatively.

"I recognized him that day from his distinctive scar. Even as a child, Harry was well-known in occult circles for particular accomplishments you would not understand the significance of," Mammon said, almost truthfully. "I had the feeling he would be useful later in life, so I… _secured_ him."

Harry grimaced at the dehumanizing, but incredibly accurate statement.

"Magic shit, huh? Tch, and not mafia, either. That's taking a big risk here, but Mammon seems to think you're trustworthy. What do you do?" Squalo demanded.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm… sort of a police officer."

There was beat of stunned silence before the assembled assassins began howling with laughter.

"Oh, come on now, boys," Lussuria giggled. "It's not like we don't have officers on our payroll."

"Yeah, but we've never actually worked with the bastards before. How's it feel to be on the other side of the law, turncoat?" Levi sneered.

Harry snorted at the transparent attempt to bait him. "Probably about the same as you would feel, if you ever got laid without paying for it. Don't worry, though, I understand it must be intimidating trying to find a date legally."

Levi's dark face went pale, then red, then blotchy as he worked his mouth soundlessly, apoplectic with rage. The mottles deepened as the others roared with laughter. "You–!"

"Knock it off, Levi, you had that coming," Squalo cackled. He turned a frankly terrifying grin on Harry, who was still using a plush sofa as a barrier between him and Belphegor. "You've got a fucking sharp tongue, there, Potter. You'll be entertaining to have around, at least."

"If we're all finished here," Mammon cut in, "we have a plane to catch. It was good that you arrived on time, Harry, or we would have boarded the flight without you."

"Flight?" Harry blinked. "Where are we going?"

"All of the teams are gathering in Japan," Mammon answered, settling onto Bel's shoulder as the group funneled out of the doorless doorway.

"I don't speak any Japanese, though." He wondered if that would be a problem; hopefully not, if he was just going to be fighting or lingering in the background.

"I'm aware, so I've taken the liberty of preparing this potion for you, for the marginal fee of fifty Galleons."

"_Fifty_?" Harry choked. "That's ludicrous! I don't even know what that is and I know it's too much!" In front of him, Squalo gave an exasperated sigh that bespoke of unfortunate familiarity, while Belphegor snickered at his expense.

"Unfortunately, this is your only option," the baby asserted, holding up the small flask of clear, ruby colored potion. "This is liquid Japanese. It will allow you to speak and understand the language of the country in which we will be competing. Of course, it will be _only _language you are capable of until the potion wears off in one week."

"What if I don't want to pay?" he demanded. He heard Lussuria give a little commiserating sigh beside him, and mutter something about necessary evils.

"Then I suppose you will unable to communicate. We will be speaking Japanese exclusively there, as will the majority of the other competitors."

"Shit," Harry muttered, scowling at the little blackmailer. "Fine, bloody _fine_, put it on my tab and I'll wire you the money once I have access to my vault."

"Muu~ I'll do just that," came the smug reply.

* * *

><p>Well, that took longer to write than I thought it would. The next chapter is already about half written, so hopefully the next update won't take another three weeks.<p>

With regard to Mammon's gender, I think I'll keep it ambiguous. Mammon's female in my headcanon, but it's actually weirdly fun trying to work sentences away from gender-specific pronouns. There will probably come times where other characters refer with their assumed gender, however, just because it would make dialogue too awkward without.

Anyway, this is the last of the introduction chapters. We meet up and summarily screw with KHR canon in the next chapter! As always, I appreciate constructive criticism, and please let me know if you spot any typos, potential plot holes, etc.


	5. Across the Pond

**Chapter 4 – Across the Pond**

**Warnings: **Copious strong language, brief nudity for comedic effect.

**Disclaimer:** If you recognize any names, terms, or concepts, that's because they don't belong to me.

* * *

><p><em>Well, this group certainly cuts an impressive figure<em>, Harry thought wryly. Before him strode the entirety of the Varia elite squad, spread out across the sidewalk and displacing all normal pedestrians. It seemed perfectly natural for them that everyone else should yield to their presence. He wondered briefly what would happen if someone refused to move, but decided not to consider the possibility in too much detail.

Instead, he reflected on the incredibly hectic day he'd had. It had been only a little over half a day since he had first received the summons from Mammon, and already he had been insulted, threatened, attacked, and deposited in two new countries. Harry had scarcely had time to send off a Patronus telling Ron and Hermione of Mammon's very vehement rejection of their presence before he was shuffled onto the private jet. The spectral stag wouldn't reach them for several days, but Mammon had not even allowed him a moment to Floo-call them, unwilling to risk compromising the location of the headquarters.

Harry had been entirely unable to rest during the twelve-hour flight, of course, with Levi and Bel's combined glares, Lussuria's attempts at friendly chatter, and Squalo's ridiculously loud voice, despite the luxury of the private jet. Not that he would have felt comfortable sleeping among the assassins even had they been quiet company; his instincts told him that would have been a patently unwise decision.

Returning to the present with a badly stifled yawn, Harry glanced from side to side, taking in the reactions of the crowd around them as they headed towards their hotel, where the squad had reserved the penthouse suite. Most people seemed to have picked up on the assassins' deadly vibes and had promptly scrambled out of the way. _Oh, that poor guy even got knocked to the ground_, Harry thought, seeing a young blond man sprawled out across the pavement. He grimaced, feeling second-hand guilt for associating with the group of bullies responsible and walked over to give him a hand up. And stood there for a moment, hand dumbly extended, while the man stared intently past him at the Varia's backs.

"Er, are you okay?" he finally asked. _He didn't bump his head when he fell, did he?_ But no, Harry's words seemed to finally prompt a reaction from the man. The blond jerked, shooting wide eyes at him, then grinned widely and accepted his hand.

"Ah, thanks for that. Haha, I think there's something wrong with these shoes, I keep tripping all over the place!" the man laughed. Harry could not help but take notice of the man's fine aquiline features, accentuated by his bright grin.

"Oh, is that it? I thought that group over there knocked you down," Harry said, jerking a thumb in the direction the Varia were headed. The man stared after them, a faint crease forming between his brows.

"No, not them. Probably lucky I tripped before they saw me…" he muttered to himself. Harry frowned.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing!" The blond turned a blinding, boyish grin on him, and Harry licked his suddenly dry lips.

"Well, I need to be going, so…"

"Oh! Right, thanks again," the man said, turning away…

…And then falling into step with Harry.

"Um. You're going this way too, then?" he said to man following along beside him, who seemed genuinely surprised and oddly pleased to see Harry still there.

"Yes!" the blond enthused, staring unblinking into Harry's eyes. "My hotel is this way. I'm from out of town."

"Funny coincidence," Harry answered uncomfortably. The man was still staring into his eyes. "My hotel's this way too. I'm pretty sure it's the only one on this block."

If anything, the blond looked even more excited, his eyes lighting up and his grin widening to scrunch up his eyes, before he coughed into a fist and curled his smile into something a little less boyish, and a little more… awkwardly sultry, Harry decided. He liked the boyish grin better.

"It must have been fate that we met this way!" said the blond, then winced away, seeming to realize precisely how cheesy that was. Unfortunately, that wince seemed to trip him up again, and he would have fallen flat on his face if not for Harry reacting instinctively to grab his arm.

"Whoops!" he chuckled, offering Harry a rakish grin as he righted himself. "Sorry, but they say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, right?"

Harry stared, uncomprehending, wondering if maybe the man actually _had_ hit his head before. The blond chuckled a little nervously before pushing on determinedly.

"I mean, because you must have fallen, too, to be here. With eyes like those, you can't be anything but divine."

Harry couldn't help but gape at the sheer audacity as his cheeks flushed a traitorous red. He watched as the man's crooked, sultry smirk slipped into an uncertain grimace at Harry's lack of response, and was finally gratified when the blond turned away with an uncomfortable cough.

"So… pretty big city, huh? I bet it'd be easy to get lost," Harry said awkwardly, wondering how easy it would be to accidentally 'lose' himself in the crowd.

"I could get lost in your eyes!" the blond blurted even more awkwardly.

"Um," said Harry, with profound eloquence. The man flushed violently and began waving his hands placatingly.

"Wait, sorry, that was too persistent. Damn, can I get you a coffee to apologize–?"

And Harry watched in horror as the man took an unwise step closer to him, presumably to assure him of his supposed sincerity, then tripped and fell forward, forward, _down_…

* * *

><p>Harry stormed his way into the hotel suite, face still beet red and fist aching.<p>

"Oh, where'd you go, dear? You disappeared on us!" Lussuria cooed from where he was perched in front of the television, watching what appeared to be a Japanese version of _Queer Eye_.

Harry huffed. "You know, I'd heard rumors about bold perverts in Japan, but I really wasn't expecting a man to fall to his knees and shove his face in my crotch on my first night here."

Lussuria burst into high-pitched, scandalized giggles, attempting to demand details in between gasps of breath. Squalo just rolled his eyes.

"The fuck did you expect, with a face like that?"

There was a pause– and then the laughter started.

"Um," Harry said for the second time in half an hour. Across the room, Xanxus snorted into his glass of tequila.

"Got something to share with the class, you shitty shark?"

"Wha– no! VOOII, bastards, stop laughing!" the white-haired commander roared, a faint blush across his cheeks as he gestured wildly with his sword-arm. "I just meant he looks like a fucking girl!"

"Shishishi~ The prince recalls a comment about liking the rat's eyes on a woman's face," Belphegor laughed, high-pitched and airy and _mocking_.

"Right," Harry muttered to himself. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to share some of whatever's in your glass, Xanxus? I would very much like to forget this night ever happened."

"A favor for a favor," Xanxus rumbled languidly, a faint smirk quirking at his lips as he eyed Harry and sipped slowly at his crystal tumbler. The Varia's laughter cut off abruptly.

"V-VOOOIII! What the fuck, boss?" Squalo bellowed, looking somewhat ill at ease.

"B-Boss?" Levi ventured. "Why didn't you shoot this worm for his disgusting impertinence?"

"Shut your fucking mouth, trash." Xanxus turned away from them then, his brief interest in the squad's affairs fading away.

Harry watched the proceedings, utterly baffled. Mammon floated over and landed on his shoulder.

"Maybe I should have you seduce our opponents," the baby said thoughtfully.

"I'm not seducing anyone!" Harry yelped, indignant. Lussuria giggled across the room.

"Honey, tell that to the commander, the boss, and that poor sap on the street."

Even more than the implication, Harry was disturbed that no one protested or denied it. He was disturbed further when Levi drew himself up, radiating some foreboding _intention_.

"There's no way this…_outsider_ can do something one of us can't! Boss, if you need someone for seduction missions, I volunteer!"

There was profound silence of the horrified sort.

Even Belphegor had stopped laughing, had stopped toying with his knives, had stopped _smiling_. Instead, his face was twisted into a disgusted grimace that was mirrored by the rest of the Varia.

"I can!" Levi asserted. "Just listen!" He coughed into his fist. "Boss! Your mighty Flames of Wrath are mere sparks to the fire burning in my heart and groin every time I lay eyes on you!"

He didn't get the chance to try seducing the rest of them, because he had just been shot through the window by an incredible burst of flame. They didn't bother looking for him, and silently, unanimously, decided it would be best to forget the evening entirely.

(That night, Harry spent no less than fifteen minutes staring at himself in the mirror, trying to see how he looked like a woman.)

* * *

><p>"Vooii, Potter, here," Squalo casually bellowed the next morning, throwing himself into a chair in the suite's dining area and sliding an object down the kitchen table towards the wizard. Harry grabbed it on instinct, fumbling to keep it from colliding with his modest plate of scrambled eggs, and then stared blankly at the gun in his hand, wondering if maybe he was actually still asleep – he had been awfully tired last night.<p>

"Um. What am I supposed to do with this?"

Squalo stared at him like he was a moron. Harry felt that was rather unjustified. "You use it to fucking kill people, trash. You didn't bring any weapons with you, right? The airport metal detectors would have picked them up. Seriously, what the fuck kind of cop are you?"

"I know what it's for!" Harry protested indignantly. He placed the gun on the table beside him and shot it a disgruntled look. "I've got no idea how to use it, though. I've never held a gun in my life."

"VOOIII! Are fucking with me, punk?" the swordsman snarled, apparently incensed, grabbing the front of Harry's shirt and shaking him. "Cops use guns, moron!"

"I'm not _that_ kind of cop!" Harry yelled back, knocking Squalo's hand away. "Just because I don't have a gun doesn't mean I'm unarmed. Believe me, I'm perfectly capable of holding my own out there." He stared defiantly up at the taller man, who glared back down at him before breaking into a wide, toothy grin.

"Heh, shall we test that?"

Harry's eyes narrowed; the bastard was literally, blatantly, asking for a fight. A glance around the room revealed that the others looked disturbingly interested – Belphegor was rolling a pair of knives across his knuckles and grinning at him eerily, Lussuria kept glancing back at them with a quirked brow from where he was stood at the stove scrambling a veritable mountain of eggs, and Levi's eyes had alighted with unholy glee at Squalo's mention of a fight. Mammon seemed less amused.

"Don't even think about making a ruckus so early in the morning. The boss is still asleep," the baby said shortly, floating over to the sink beside Lussuria to inhale the aromatic steam rising from the coffee maker.

"You think we shouldn't get to know our new _teammate's_ abilities, Mammon?" Levi said, leering at Harry.

"I think we don't need the expense of repairing the hotel, the town, or wherever you hooligans decide to wreak havoc," Mammon said flatly. The others paused at this, considering the implication that an altercation with Harry would be far from one-sided.

"You're shitting me. This kid's really that strong?" Squalo grinned.

"That's what the newspapers say," Mammon shrugged, deliberately obtuse. Squalo's face faulted.

"The fuck, Mammon? Is he useful or not?"

The Arcobaleno sighed long-sufferingly. "I've lost track of how many times I've said he's useful. Harry's particular skill set is entirely unique among the competitors here and has the potential to be extremely destructive. I don't want you fighting him for fun, because if any of the competition caught wind of his abilities, we would lose the element of surprise."

"So, what, you can't even _tell_ us what he can do?" Squalo growled. He banged a fist on the table and leaned across it belligerently. "How the fuck am I supposed to coordinate the team when there's a goddamn _unknown_ tagging along?"

"I use magic," Harry butted in. "It's very versatile. Don't worry about me, I'll work around your strategies."

"Finally, something to work with," Squalo growled, eyes narrowing in on him. "Explain."

"I use a wand to cast spells. I've got a wide arsenal, capable of a variety of offense, defense, stealth, and curative magic," Harry explained. He wished the commander could have waited longer before the inquisition; his eggs were getting cold. "Like I said, I'm extremely versatile, so it'd probably be easier if you explained your normal tactics and abilities so I could adapt to your strategies."

"What, you think our squad's tactics are so simplistic some common punk like you could fit in?!" Levi barked furiously, rising to his feet to loom over Harry. Harry glowered back.

"Don't put words in my mouth. Of course it'd be easier for me to adjust to your tactics, rather than to have all of you study my abilities to work around me. You're the ones who've been working together for years, right?" Harry countered.

"Oh, stop being difficult, Levi," Lussuria scolded lightly. "He makes perfect sense. Why alter the whole team's dynamic when he can just work around us?"

"And why the fuck should we trust that this little shit can even do that much? What if he screws up and gets one of us injured?"

"The prince trusts Mammon's word that the rat is capable," Bel interjected dully.

"Looks like we've got a consensus," Squalo drawled. "Alright Potter, all you need to know is that I'm the best fucking swordsman you'll ever meet, Mammon's the greatest illusionist around, Lussuria's a master martial artist, Bel uses knives and razor wire, and Levi uses umbrellas to conduct electric current and direct it at his enemies. We know our own roles in combat, so don't interfere unless it looks like one of us is about to take a fatal attack. Got it?"

"What about your boss?"

"…If Boss steps onto the battlefield, then you better step right the fuck off."

Harry gulped at the dark tone. Yeah, he could imagine that man, with his barely suppressed violence practically bubbling up from beneath his scarred skin, as a monster in battle.

"Right, understood," Harry affirmed. "Um, Mammon mentioned something yesterday about…flames was it? What are those? I assume the enemies use them too, is all."

Squalo looked disgruntled. "Fuck, we really have to describe that, too? Couldn't have picked more of an amateur, could you, Mammon?"

"There's no need to bother. I've had my subordinates prepare a memorandum for you concerning the technicalities of Dying Will Flames and their usage in combat," the baby said, gesturing to a stack of papers on the other end of the table. Harry had seen it when he came in, but assumed it was a month's worth of someone else's paperwork.

"…I thought memos were supposed to be short," he muttered, flipping through the thick packet. Dear Merlin, that was small font. _Well, I suppose I know how I'm going to spend my day._

* * *

><p>When Harry returned to the world of the living, having spent the last seven hours scouring the massive report on Dying Will Flames with increasing disbelief, he was understandably hungry and mentally fatigued. He entered the suite proper a bit nervously, unsure what to expect of the assassins. It was noticeably devoid of both Belphegor and Mammon, so Harry allowed himself a happy little grin and plopped into a plush armchair to relax – and the promptly flung himself up and across the room, because Levi had just stumbled out of the bathroom, entirely naked and boisterously drunk and his dancing, hairy butt had come too close to Harry for comfort.<p>

He settled instead onto the couch adjacent from the chair Squalo had taken, sipping at a glass of amaretto and scanning through some paperwork. The commander snorted – loudly, as he did with every vocalization – at the expression of disgust Harry directed at the Varia Lightning.

"Get used to it, Potter," Squalo said distractedly, eyes flicking back to the reports in his hand. "Fucker says all that body hair makes his clothes too itchy, so he's naked half the time."

_I don't know what's worse, the fact that it happens so often that _you've_ gotten used to it, or the implication that _I'll_ be around here long enough to get used to it._

Harry jumped suddenly as the door to the suite slammed open, admitting Belphegor with Mammon perched on his shoulder and – a teenage boy tucked below his arm?

Squalo directed the strange procession to the inner office, where Xanxus had secluded himself since yesterday, and the three promptly disappeared behind the door. After a moment, a strange, high-pitched shriek of terror pierced through the off-kilter silence left in the wake of Hurricane Bel. Harry wondered if the kid had been attacked, but then realized, no, that was really a very normal reaction to coming face-to-face with Xanxus.

"Um. Sorry if I'm mistaken, but it looked like Belphegor and Mammon just kidnapped some kid and threw him to the mercy of your boss. That's… not normal, is it?" Harry ventured.

"That wasn't just some kid," Squalo said, putting down his tumbler and rising to his feet with a long stretch that Harry definitely didn't follow with his eyes. "That brat is the heir to the Vongola Famiglia. Boss doesn't like him."

Lussuria snorted as he set his weights back on their rack and daintily dabbed beading sweat off his temples with a handkerchief. "You're not usually one for understatement, Squ. The boss _hates_ that boy, Harry. We should probably go make sure he hasn't killed him yet."

Startled, Harry surged to his feet and hurried into the inner office, where the scrawny brunet was sprawled across the floor in front of Xanxus, who appeared to be fully embracing Japanese culture (and sake) at the moment.

"EEHH?" the boy screeched. Harry wasn't away that male voices could reach that pitch. "T-the Varia is the Arcobaleno Mammon's representative?"

"Are you okay, Tsuna?!" a familiar voice called out as another man burst through the door.

Harry sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the intruder, dressed in an impeccably tailored white suit. "You!" he called angrily. "You're that guy from yesterday! What do you think you're doing here? Creeps like you shouldn't be hanging around kids!" He gestured sharply at the timid brown-haired boy on the floor, who was currently gaping at him incredulously.

The blond's face went red, then pale, then red again. It contrasted oddly with the vivid black eye Harry had given him the day before. "Hey! I'm not a pedophile! Shit, I'm not _any_ kind of pervert!" he protested loudly.

"Yeah, well you didn't have any problem face-planting in a stranger's crotch in the middle of a busy street!"

"It was an accident!" the man howled, crimson-faced. "It was my _shoes!_" He wasn't the only one in the room crimson-faced, but the others had more to do with their faces flushing with the effort of catching their breath from laughing.

And then the laughter stopped, as every man and baby in the room glanced sharply up at the ceiling, where a presence had just made itself known. Xanxus unhesitatingly fired his gun up into the roof, and Harry stumbled backwards to avoid the rain of glass shards as a figure with a briefcase dropped into the room.

The Varia all slipped in battle positions, while Harry instinctively shifted in front of the child that Belphegor had carried in. From the corner of his eye, he saw the suited infant riding on the blond man's shoulder glance at him – another Arcobaleno, judging by the glowing yellow pacifier, which made the pervert an enemy.

"Who-ho-ho-hoops! Good thing I found you in the end, I forgot to write down your room number…" the man giggled as he righted himself and brushed glass dust off his shoulders.

"My name is Wonomichi, here on behalf of the Man in the Iron Mask to explain to you the rules of the Representative Battle of the Rainbow!"

* * *

><p>AN: Seriously what the fuck even is that guy's name. I've seen it spelled so many ways I don't even know what to think, so I'm going with the wikia spelling. If anyone can tell me definitively otherwise, that'd be great. If this spelling offends anyone for some reason, let me know and I'll change it to one of the other five hundred thousand versions.<p>

Also, I've got this policy against character bashing, but I can't help but feel my dislike of Levi is biasing my writing of his character. Opinions? If you feel I'm not doing him justice, I would appreciate story recommendations that do convey him appropriately, to help me get a better read on him.

Aaaanyway, sorry it took so long to get this filler chapter up. Starting in the next chapter, we'll start to see some very significant divergence from KHR canon. This'll be fun :)


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